Strange Inspirations
by misanthrope1
Summary: I never do songfics and this really is not one.  But it alludes to odd inspirations.  Disclaimer:  I do not own Hetalia nor any songs.  Nor do I know how any songwriter comes up with lyrics or melodies.


**A/N: I don't know who or what inspired the actual song but it screams UK angsting over America. **

The pub glowed soft yellow and few people sat in it. A perfect place to mull, Bernie thought. It had been a few lousy days and he couldn't find the words anywhere. Sighing, he grabbed his notebook and began again, muttering under his breath.

"No use mate."

He looked up at the short, sandy blond man who watched him. Bernie's spine stiffened yet his stomach flipped. Limpid, gorgeous green eyes, malachite green, a shade he'd never seen, watched him. The bushy eyebrowed yet handsome young man slammed back an amber liquid filled shot glass and tapped his glass for another.

"What?" Bernie stuttered.

"Love. I heard you muttering. It's no good for you or anyone, mate. It just rips you up and spits you out." The bartender filled his glass. Bernie blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"Love sucks, is that easier?"

Bernie laughed. The young man seemed younger than him, certainly nowhere old enough to be as cynical as he sounded. "You must have had your heart broken recently."

"Shattered, mate, and a long time ago." The young man gave him a weary smile. "They give you the crap it gets easier. Bullocks. You learn to handle it better, mate, but it's not easier."

"I'm sorry. You must have loved her very much."

"Hell, he was a right tosser. Still is, stupid git. All smug and snotty, thinking he's so great. Wouldn't be anywhere except for me. My own fault though." The man gulped his drink. "I took the damn chance, changed that arse's life, I did. And see how he repaid me. Complained, groused, and then left me in the rain."

Bernie turned his head as John came in, sitting beside him. He noted John's eyes gleam as they took in the young man. "This is…" Bernie looked at the man curiously.

"No one special. " The man gazed at John. "You two together?"

"Yes," John said.

"Not how you think," Bernie said. "We work together and are friends."

"That's nice. Just don't fall in love." John looked at Bernie, who merely raised an eyebrow.

"He had his heart broke," Bernie said.

"Nothing matters anyway. The worst is I still have to deal with him. I mean, we have to work together, have to see each other, and the bugger wants to be friends! He's the bloody sun to me and when he left, he took that with him, and now I'm supposed to just be friends? I even had a moon for awhile but he left too. They all leave."

"Maybe you could tell him," John suggested, clearly uneasy while Bernie thought this was actually fascinating. The young man fell quiet, shoved his hair back.

"No," the man finally replied. "I don't know how." He smiled bitterly. "I have Shakespeare, Chaucer, Milton, and I can't ever bloody get the words right. He misreads everything!" He sighed.

"I think you're being hard on yourself," John said. "Just try to find the words. Look inside you."

"I always see someone else when I do that. I'm not good at romantic," the man groused. "Doesn't matter." He glanced up at the Union Jack on the wall. "Sun never sets, my arse. He took that away."

"There is someone for you," Bernie said. "I bet you're not even 23 yet."

"Ha! Add a couple zeroes to that," the man muttered. He looked at them and Bernie bit his lip. Those marvelous green eyes suddenly appeared ancient, as if they stared into eternity on a regular basis.

"Here you are, Gramps!" An even younger man strode over, a stuffed koala bear on his shoulder. "Come on, old man," he said, grabbing the green eyed man's arm.

"Go away, Aussie,' the man snapped. "I'm talking here."

"You need to get to bed. Our meeting takes place in under six hours." The younger man glanced at Bernie and John. "Sorry. Gramps here gets long winded when drunk." The young man had pale green eyes and messy brown hair. A strong Australian accent coated each word.

"Gramps?" John repeated.

"He's one of the oldest of our group."

"Let me go, wanker!" "Stop it." The young man pulled the smaller to his feet. "Let's go. I hate when you get drunk."

"I like it."

"Let's go," the Australian insisted.

"I am talking to my new mates here." The emerald eyed man looked at Bernie and John. "This is…"

"I'm Bernie, this is John," Bernie said.

"I knew a John," the man said. "He was a Prince. No, a King. Bloody bad one…"

"Come on!" The Australian grabbed the man's forearm and the Englishman yelped. Bernie spotted blood and the Australian hastily rolled up the man's sleaze. Sluggishly oozing cuts dripped blood onto the table. The Australian hastily tied a handkerchief around the wound. "What happened?" he demanded in a low voice.

"I was cooking."

"Christ, mate. Come on, you clumsy Pom. Let's get you fixed up." he smiled nervously at Bernie and John. "He just needs some TLC." The Australian dragged the man out and Bernie watched, swearing the koala actually moved on its own, as if alive.

"That was odd," John said.

"Gives me an idea…" Bernie began writing, John putting his head close to his.

"What's this?"

"Not all love songs are happy John…" Bernie smiled.

Late May, 1974.

England puttered around his kitchen, watching Flying Mint Bunny play with Roselight. The two fey creatures darted around the table. Arthur lifted his head as the radio played a new song by Elton John. Arthur frowned. This song seemed almost ... eerie.

_I can't light no more of your darkness_  
><em>All my pictures seem to fade to black and white<em>  
><em>I'm growing tired and time stands still before me<em>  
><em>Frozen here on the ladder of my life<em>

_It's much to late to save myself from falling_  
><em>I took a chance and changed your way of fife<em>  
><em>But you misread my meaning when i met you<em>  
><em>Closed the door and left me blinded by the light<em>

_Don't let the sun go down on me_  
><em>Although i search myself, it's always someone else i see<em>  
><em>I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free<em>  
><em>But losing everything is like the sun going down on me<em>

_I can't find oh, the right romantic line_  
><em>But see me once and see the way i feel<em>  
><em>Don't discard me just because you think i mean you harm<em>  
><em>But these cuts i have, oh they need love to help them heal<em>

_Don't let the sun go down on me_  
><em>Although i search myself, it's always someone else i see<em>  
><em>I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free<em>  
><em>But losing everything is like the sun going down on me<em>

_Don't let the sun go down on me_  
><em>Although i search myself, it's always someone else i see<em>  
><em>I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free<em>  
><em>But losing everything is like the sun going down on me.<em>

"Whatever," England muttered. "I need a drink."

**Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me** by Elton John and Bernie Taupin.


End file.
